Selfish git
by tediouslydull
Summary: One possible outcome when Sherlock returns that does not include Mary Morstan (whoever that is).


He thought he could manage. Like everything else. He always pulled through, no matter how mind-boggling the situation was, no matter how many sacrifices he'd possible had to make. He followed his mind. He followed his plan. Because the plan was infallible. He was infallible. Though this time, he actually regretted he had ignored the only cry his heart has ever made. Hoping it would just shush down. But it didn't. The cry just transformed into a scream. A constant roar deafening his entire being. At night he found himself clutching his knees and keeping his eyes closed desperately wanting to not feel. To wait for the moment that the agony would numb his senses. But it never came. He had not imagined these consequences. He had not realised his feelings towards this utterly mundane, slightly intelligent, loyal little man. But now it all backfired on him. And he tortured himself by picturing all kinds of future scenarios. Of course they all were a bit grim, considering the facts.

So he run the facts in head over and over again. Sherlock had committed suicide -quite dramatically- in front of John. He made John watch. He had too. But still, it would certainly effect him. Emotionally. He knew John didn't love him. Not in the way Sherlock now knew he felt towards him. But John had cared. They were best friends. They relied on each other and improved each other. He took that away. John already went through the grieving process. So if Sherlock would move back to 221B Baker Street tomorrow, he could not expect for things to fold into their normal course. Sadly. He opened his eyes and watched the wall. "Possibility one", he spoke out loud, voice a bit hoarse. "He yells. Swears. And kicks me out. No, he wouldn't do that. He'd move." He sighed deeply. "Possibility two: he yells, swears, locks himself into his room, accepts and forgives with weeks of awkwardness to follow." He stopped. None of them were good. Because Sherlock knew, he knew that he would never be able to tell how he felt towards John. Ever. He could never go back to just being friends with John. He could play, oh yes, he could very well play along. But he didn't think he could stand it. It would devastate him at some point. He couldn't live with or without John. That was his dilemma. He closed his eyes. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he had to go.

Half ten p.m. He stood in front of 221B and knocked. Knowing Mrs Hudson would be the first to open. Tricky though, since she could make a fuss. So when she opened the door, eyes wide, he muffled the "Sher.." by gently placing his hand on her mouth. He brought his index finger to his own mouth and when she nodded he draw back his hand. Silently they went into her kitchen. There she turned around and hugged him. Automatically he stiffened, but relaxed when he smelled her distinct sent. "Sherlock, it is you. It's really you," she whispered against his shoulder. Then she retreated and looked at him. "How could you do this to us?" "I had no choice," he whispered. "How's John?" he immediately added. She sighed deeply. "He's changed, Sherlock. He's not at all that joyful anymore. Well, you know why." Sherlock shifted uncomfortably. "Should I go…now?", he asked. "Yesterday would have been better, the poor thing. I don't know how he will react." "Me neither," Sherlock muffled and he turned away. At the door he turned around once more. "Thank you, Mrs Hudson." "What for, dear?" "For keeping an eye on him". She nodded and Sherlock faced the stairs.

He stood before the all too familiar door to their apartment. He just grazed it before firmly knocking two times. He heard footsteps. Irregular. He cursed himself. So John's limp was back. Then the door opened and Sherlock tried to mentally brace himself, straightening his back, and his face. Then the door was fully open. And John stood their. His John stood there in his moment of bliss ignorance. And Sherlock's heart just leapt. And he lost his composure for just one second. John hadn't changed. And then John's eyes went from his chest to his face. And Sherlock knew what was coming. But still he smiled at John, a corner of his mouth crinkled up a bit. "Sherlock?," John uttered and Sherlock felt his stomach turning upon hearing John saying his name. "John," Sherlock answered staring back at him. John took several steps back into the flat and clutched his hair while turning around in their living room. Sherlock took this as an invitation to come in. And he watched his friend desperately trying to control himself, constantly saying "Ok.. Ok, so… That's …". Then the doctor suddenly froze. And Sherlock watched as he came closer. Until finally, John just touched his shoulder. His eyes bluer than they'd ever been and peering through Sherlock's. Sherlock could see he was thinking he went crazy and then he saw relief wash over his body. And just as Sherlock opened his mouth to say "I'm not going to vaporize", John clutched his body onto his. And breath was taken away from him. Thoughts were taken away from him. He only felt. Felt John's chest fully against his body. Felt John's muscles clenching around his waist, almost painfully bringing Sherlock as close as possible. After a couple of seconds Sherlock started breathing again and brought his arms across John's body, breathing in the smell of his hair. "John", he exclaimed. And he felt wetness on his neck, probably coming from John's tears.

A smothered and sniffling sound coming from John confirmed this speculation. Sherlock took hold of the man's shoulders and held him in front of him, pushing his front head up to his and looking straight into his eyes. They were glistering blue, his face wet from crying. "I am sorry, John." John just kept looking at him and shook his head. "No," John said. "No?," Sherlock questioned, raising his eyebrows and trying to keep his face straight when he felt John stepping back a bit. "No, Sherlock. You don't get it. You selfish git! Can't you think of what it would do to people who care about you? Can't you imagine what it did to me? I hate myself for caring for you, for putting all of my energy in you, Sherlock. And know you just pop back in. You are the most ignorant-" "You!" Sherlock interrupted John. "I could have expected this from others. But you! Don't you know me?" Sherlock shouted as he brought his face closer to John. "Damn it, don't you see me?" Sherlock asked loudly, eyes vivid, poisonous green as he turned around John. "I've hurt myself more than others. What I did wasn't a parade. What I did, I had to do, because of others. Without them I would've been able to beat Moriarty in the blink of an eye! You lot slow me down. And still I did what I did. And still I care more about you than you ever could about me!" Sherlock stopped, breathing heavily into John's face. John blinked and straightened his posture, looking into Sherlock's eyes. "You can't care more." John uttered. Sherlock laughed. "No, I'm a mere machine, right. Spend a penny and watch him do his perfect dance. You know John, I thought you would've understood me, after the fall, when I said alone is what protects me. Alone is indeed what I have." Sherlock said as he turned away. John grabbed him by the shoulder. "You can't care more, because I love you, Sherlock." He waited as Sherlock looked at him, face expressing slight shock, which actually meant a lot of shock, John knew. "I love you," he repeated, and not only for Sherlock, but for himself as well, as he tucked on the man's coat. It was the first time John truly admitted his feelings towards himself. Sherlock clenched his jaws and locked towards the ceiling as he started saying very slowly: "Yet you still won't ever love me as much as I need and love you." John's heart burst on hearing this, still Sherlock was still occupied locking at the ceiling. "Sherlock, look at me," John said, a bit firmly. Sherlock obeyed, how could he not, and slowly bent his head, seeing John's glistering eyes and understanding the emotions, he rubbed his nose against John's, brushed their lips and finally locked them firmly, but chastely together. What felt like hours, was over in seconds. And Sherlock kept holding onto John, as though the man might vaporise into thin air. John rested his head onto Sherlock's chest and muttered: "I'm sorry. I.. You're so… I'll try more to understand, okay?" Sherlock chuckled. "So will I, John. Do help me when I fail."


End file.
